“You say the word, and we’ll destroy his existence,” Asher says in a—fuck with me and find out—tone, pulling my eyes to his. “No one fucks with what is ours.” He raises a brow, daring me to argue. Fuck with what’s ours? This again? I swear to God I’m going to wake up with a tattoo on my forehead that says Property of Whispered Words, and then I’m going to start throwing hands and breaking balls.
